


Lovestruck

by Zimra



Series: I Wish the Wars Were All Over [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barahir realizes a few things after his friend's teenage sister beats him in a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovestruck

He should not have been surprised when Emeldir asked him to fight. Barahir had been sparring with her older brothers in the mornings for years, whenever Bregolas and his father were occupied with other things. Eldor was Barahir’s age and a close friend, and Erthon was two years younger; their father, Beren, was Bregor’s second cousin. Emeldir was the baby of her family at eighteen, but she already stood as tall as Barahir and he had watched her spar with her brothers and father more times than he could count.

Women among their people did not typically train as warriors, but Emeldir’s upbringing had been rather unusual. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and Beren had brought her to her brothers’ fighting lessons from an early age, letting her watch until she pestered him into teaching her as well. Eldor and Erthon were intensely protective, as might be expected, but that did not stop them from hitting back during practice - in fact, they frequently bragged to their friends about their younger sister’s skill. However, her education was limited to training, as Beren had never actually allowed her to go into the field the way a boy her age would have done. 

And now, lying on his back in the dirt with the wind knocked out of him and Emeldir’s blunt practice sword at his throat, Barahir realized what a waste that was.

As he struggled to get his breath back, he could hear Erthon’s whoop of triumph and Eldor’s more restrained, “Well done, Em!” The girl offered Barahir her hand and he took it, letting her help him to his feet. She was breathing hard, brushing strands of curly hair that had escaped from her braid out of her sweaty face. The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it - he had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, and he could tell from her wide, bright eyes that she was trying not to look too excited. “I told you you didn’t have to go easy on me.”

“I wasn’t,” he protested, suddenly very aware that he was still staring at her. He broke eye contact quickly, bending down to brush the worst of the dirt off his clothes. “Well, I didn’t mean to, anyway. I may have underestimated you a little, but I can assure you I’ll never make that mistake again.”

Emeldir’s face broke into a smile, one that might have taken his breath away if she hadn’t already done that by knocking him down. “Want another bout?” she asked, a bit too eagerly.

Barahir retrieved his sword from where it had fallen. “Let’s see what else you’ve got,” he said, and she didn’t stop smiling as they moved into position again. 

~

“So, Emeldir beat you, did she?”

Exasperated, Barahir turned to find his brother standing behind him, grinning widely. “How do you know about that?”

“Eldor and Erthon are telling everyone,” Bregolas informed him, laughing. “They’re both about to burst, they’re so proud.”

“They have good reason to be - she knocked the wind out of me. I’ll probably have bruises.” Barahir said, unable to keep himself from smiling a little.

“Your pride doesn’t seem too bruised,” Bregolas observed, raising his eyebrows. 

“Not at all,” Barahir said. His face turned serious. “In fact, I want to speak to Beren on her behalf.”

Bregolas looked shocked. “You want to ask for her hand? I’m not sure Beren will approve - she’s a bit young for marriage, though he’d have no other reason object to you as a suitor.” He shook his head, laughing. “You would be one to propose to a girl right after she bested you in combat.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Barahir cried, though he could feel himself blushing. “It’s just…Beren won’t let her ride out with the men, even though she’d have started going years ago if she’d been a boy. Eldor told me that he and Erthon have tried to reason with him, but the old man won’t budge. I thought maybe if I talked to him, I could help convince him that she’s wasting her talents.”

Bregolas frowned for a moment, then he looked thoughtful. “I’ve never actually seen her fight, but if you think it’s a good idea…”

His response was cut short when a small child covered head-to-toe in mud dashed between them - or at least, attempted to. Bregolas’ hand shot out with almost inhuman speed and grabbed the squirming four-year-old by the shoulder. “You’d better not go back in the house in this condition, my lad,” he said sternly. “Your mother will skin you alive. Come on, Baragund, let’s go get you cleaned up before midday meal.” 

Ignoring the mud and his son’s protests, he scooped the child up and looked back at Barahir. “I almost can’t believe I’m saying this, but I do trust your judgement. If you think it’s the right thing to do, you should talk to Beren. Just don’t push him too hard - he’s a stubborn man, and if you make him angry he won’t be so receptive when you _do_ propose.” He winked, then laughed at the look on his brother’s face before walking away, carrying the sulking Baragund with him. 

Barahir scowled, wishing he had been able to think of some clever retort, but it was no good. He’d always liked Emeldir’s company - though he had never spent time with her without her brothers there - and now he had no doubt that he was attracted to her. But it would be absurd to even think about marriage right now; she was young, and ought to focus on her training. Barahir resolved to find Beren and talk to him as soon as he could.


End file.
